Conspiracy of Polydactyly
by RebeccaM30
Summary: Stanford has always been self conscious of his hands. After all, they've attracted the attention of bullies and the like for years. Now, they've captured the attention of a researcher who may not be as helpful as he seems.
1. Chapter 1

_Research notes of Dr. P. Allensen_

 _Date: June 21, 1971_

 _Time: 12:45 pm_

 _Observation of Subject continues. Subject is male, approximately fifteen to sixteen  
years of age, 5 ft 9 in height. Subject presents with six fingers on each  
hand. Opportunity to study polydactylism in humans. Are all fingers functional?  
Do they have full range of motion? Hereditary or genetic anomaly? Anomaly is  
more likely, considering Subject's twin has the more "normal" five fingers. Further  
study is impossible at this time without acquisition of Subject. Acquisition could  
prove problematic, as Subject is often in the company of the aforementioned twin.  
Although, this could present a unique opportunity to study the reputed connection  
between twins. Can one feel the other's pain, duress, etc.? Future consideration of Twin as a second Subject is a possibility, although I may be getting ahead of myself. I need to focus on Subject #1 at this time. An opportunity for acquisition  
will present itself. I am nothing, if not patient._

Allensen was trying to remember how many days he had come here and sat in  
his car outside the old pawn shop, when the sound of a bell startled him out of his  
thoughts. He looked up to see a teenage boy walk out the shop he was currently  
parked in front of. The boy was tall and broad shouldered, wearing jeans and a Rolling  
Stones t-shirt, with a black gym bag slung across his shoulder. Allensen noted to  
himself that the boy would one day be a handsome man, but right now, he sported  
the round baby face and acne scars of adolescence. The boy turned to the still open  
door of the shop.

"Come on, Ford! I've seen dead snails move faster!"

"I'm coming! It's not like the boat's going anywhere without us! It doesn't  
have a rudder yet!"

"I've got practice at two! We ain't got that much time and I thought you  
wanted to get the decking in place today!"

Allensen smiled when another boy stepped out of the shop. This one was his  
Subject. Lithe, where as his brother was built like an athlete, with curly hair, and  
brown eyes behind black rimmed glasses. As discreetly as possible, Allensen  
picked up his camera and snapped a few pictures, as the boys walked to a red car  
parked on the street. Disappointed when he saw his Subject shove those beautiful  
hand in the pockets of the jeans he wore. The Twin threw the gym bag in the  
backseat before he got in the car. After waiting for his brother to put on his  
seatbelt, the car pulled away from the curb. Allensen fell in behind them. He  
tried to keep a few cars back. He didn't want the boys getting suspicious or  
spooked.

After about an hour, they arrived at the less-than-impressive beach, that had  
given the small town its name. The boys practically leapt out of the car and, after  
retrieving a tool box from the trunk, walked to the derelict shape of what may  
have once been a boat docked at the end of a short pier. He stepped out of his car,  
closing the door behind him as softly as possible, with his camera in hand. He  
snapped a few pictures of the sun glinting on the water and the birds, as not to  
appear suspicious in any way. He moved the camera over to where the boys  
worked on the boat, pretending to take pictures of the rock formations near by.  
When he was satisfied, he climbed back into his car, picked up his notebook and  
made a few more notes on the page, before backing the car out of the parking area.  
He had waited a long time to find the perfect Subject, a few more days wouldn't  
hurt.

Stanford Pines looked over his shoulder at the barely existent parking area.  
The car that he had been almost sure was following them was still there, a tall dark  
haired man stood near it, taking pictures of the beach. His twin, Stanley, noticed  
his brother's inattention, and looked up from the deck boards he was nailing down.

"You okay over there?" he asked, his deep brown eyes flooding his concern.  
It was a hot day for mid-June, and he didn't want his brother having a heat stroke, or  
something. "Need to move to some shade?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I was- um, just looking around."

Stan rolled his eyes, "Jeez. You're a rotten liar."

"It's probably nothing."

Stan glanced in the direction his twin was looking, seeing the strange man as  
he climbed back into his car and left. "It's just some guy taking pictures. Nice car,  
though," he said, eyeing the blue and white Chevy Nomad station wagon. "Looks  
like a '58."

Ford gave a non-committal hum, and went back to placing the deck boards.  
He couldn't shake the feeling that this stranger, was looking right at him, for some  
reason. He was used to people staring, due to his unusual birth deformity, but this  
was different. It felt almost like the man was studying him.

In his distraction, he barely managed to move his hand before Stan swung the hammer down. Ford squawked and fell backwards, catching himself on his elbows.

"Shit, Sixer! I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Stan was at his side in a second, holding out his hand to help him up.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I didn't hit you, did I?"

"No."

"That fellow's got you real upset, huh?"

Ford sighed. He could never understand how, but his twin had always been  
very perceptive. Not only to his moods, but the moods of other people. It was like  
the larger boy didn't like to see anyone around him without a smile.

"No, that's not it. It's just, oh, I don't know."

"And you're still a rotten liar." Stan laughed and slung his arm around the  
slimmer boy's shoulders. "Come on. We need to get going anyway."

"And just what do you suggest I do, while I'm waiting for you?"

"Well, I may have put a few of your nerd books, and your sketch pad in my  
bag. I figured you could work some on the science project you've been going on  
about. Are you ever gonna tell me what it is?"

"I'm still researching the probability of it even working, so no. Not yet  
anyway."

"Eh. No big. I probably wouldn't get it anyway. Science ain't my best  
subject."

"Neither is English, apparently." He grinned good naturedly, so his brother  
would know he was joking. It bothered him when Stan put himself down like that, though.

"I can leave you here, you know." Stan stared at his brother over the white  
convertible top of the car, returning his grin.

"You wouldn't. Because then, you'd have to answer to Mom."

A brief look of panic crossed Stan's eyes. "I'd rather go three rounds with  
Bossi than explain to her why I made you walk home. Get in."l

Ford laughed as he slid into the car. "You could take him down in one round."

"Glad you're on my side."

"I'm always in your corner. You know that."

Ford relaxed into the vinyl seat as Stan backed the car out of the parking area, and headed back into town, unaware of the Chevy Nomad that followed them.


	2. Chapter 2

_Research notes of Dr. P. Allensen  
Date: June 23, 1971  
Time: 4:00 pm_

 _My patience has paid off. After following Subject for the past three weeks, I have memorized his daily routine. On Thursdays, he spends his time at a local library, while his Twin is in boxing practice. I have looked up more information on my Subject via local newspapers. He has won numerous science awards, and appears to have a genius level IQ. Perhaps after my research is completed, I can convince him to carry on my work? Again, I seem to be getting ahead of myself. Today, I will finally acquire my perfect Subject. I have sent my "assistant" (and I use that title loosely), ahead to prepare. I have everything in place. At last, I am ready to begin_.

Ford sat on the steps outside the library, open book in his lap, waiting for Stan to be finished with boxing practice. He had said something about stopping for milkshakes at the diner before heading home, which in Stan's language meant 'flirt with the cute new waitress'. He smiled to himself at the thought of Stan's dreadful 'flirting', but reminded himself that he wouldn't be able to do much better.

He sighed and was about the return his attention to the book in his lap, when he heard what sounded like soft sobbing to his right. He looked over the railing to see a little girl sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against the side of the building. She didn't look much older then twelve, with long brown hair. Her amber colored eyes were wide, and filled with soft tears as she cried.

"Hey," he said gently, hoping to get her attention. "Are you alright?"

She sniffled. "No. My brother and I got separated, and I can't find him! We were supposed to stay together. My dad's gonna be so mad."

He put the book in his warn leather satchel, and stood up. "I'll help you look for him. Where's the last place you saw him?"

She excitedly jumped to her feet, and brushed off the blue dress she was wearing. Ford tried not to stare at the fact that, she also wore what looked, like blue tipped, iridescent, costume butterfly wings. She took his hand and led him into the alley, next to the building. She stopped near the dumpster.

"He was over here, looking at something. I turned around to try to get a cat to come to me, and when I turned back around, he was gone!"

"It's okay. I'm sure we'll find him." He crouched down in front of her, reached into the back pocket of his pants, and pulled out his kerchief. He smiled as he gently wiped her eyes. She seemed a little taken back by his gesture of kindness. He stood up as she sniffled again.

"You're so nice. I just want to say I'm sorry."

Before he could respond, a hand clamped over his mouth. He struggled when he felt the pinch of a needle in his neck. Something quickly flooded his system, and he slumped back against the person holding him.

As he fell unconscious, he saw a little boy, run out from behind the dumpster. and hug the no-longer-crying girl, in an attempt to comfort her. He looked almost exactly like her. Two thoughts entered Ford's head, simultaneously, as his eyelids closed. ' _I was tricked.'_ and ' _they're twins…'_  
He felt himself being dragged through the alleyway, before everything went completely black.

Stan approached the steps of the library, about twenty minutes later. He looked around, and, upon finding the steps to be empty, scowled. He had had an intense feeling of foreboding and dread, since he was at practice. He decided that, even though he was probably being paranoid because of what Ford had said, to cut out on his milkshake-date, and come straight here. Unfortunately practice had ran a little late, so he was still late arriving. His feeling of dread had intensified when he saw the steps abandoned.

He shook his head, as he tried to scare away the meddlesome thoughts that were going places they shouldn't. "He's… probably just inside!" He thought out loud, in an attempt to reassure himself. "...Yeah! That was it. He's probably just waiting inside." After all, Glass Shard Beach seemed to be experiencing it's annual heat wave, and waiting inside the cool of the building, made more sense than sweating outside. _Yep. Perfect sense,_ Stan thought, as he bounded up the steps to the library.

He stepped inside, but instead of his brother, he saw the librarian's assistant, Beth. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey, Stan. If you're lookin' for your brother, he left about thirty minutes ago."  
"Uhh, thanks." Stan replied.  
 _That couldn't be right_ , Stan thought as he walked back out. Why would Ford leave without him, or at least, telling him?

He walked back outside and wiped the sweat off his forehead. It served as a reminder of the heat. "That's it!" he exclaimed, feeling like the idiot everyone thought he was.(like he knew he was). "He went on home." Feeling slightly better, he practically jumped off the library steps. Something caught his eye, on the ground next to stairs. Catching the light and almost blinding him. It turned out to be a few weird, iridescent flakes. _Scales?_ If they were snake scales they didn't belong to any snake he knew of from around here. He decided it was probably nothing, and, choosing to ignore the weird, possible snake scales, continued on his walk home. As he passed the alley, something near the dumpster caught his eye. The feeling of dread came back as he approached the object on the ground. It was Ford's leather satchel. Shining on the ground next to it, were more of the weird, shimmering white scales.

 _Why would Ford's satchel be here, of all places?_ he thought. Ford loved that old thing. It, along with the boxing gloves in Stan's gym bag, had been one of the last birthday gifts they received from their grandfather, before he passed away. He picked it up, to brush the dirt off of it, when he saw writing scrawled in the dirt. In a shaky, hurried script were the words; **'He's okay. For now'.**  
Stan felt slightly nauseous. _This can't be happening!_

He threw the satchel around his shoulders and took off at a sprint that would make his boxing coach proud. He didn't stop until he reached the door of his dad's pawn shop.


	3. Chapter 3

Research notes of Dr. P. Allensen  
Date: June 24, 1971  
Time: 8:32 am

 _My assistant performed admirably, and acquisition of Subject was successful. That naïve boy never even suspected my trap. I must admit to an uncharacteristic thrill, as I held him against me, and pushed that needle into his flesh. To know at that moment, I held his very life in my hands? And when unconscious, to have him completely at my mercy? I suspect it must be akin to the feeling of a spider, looking at a trapped insect. Watching it struggle, only to become further entangled._

 _The effects of the rohypnol will be wearing off shortly. I'll send one of my assistants to fetch him so we can talk. Perhaps I can take advantage of his trusting nature, and he will help me willingly? That would make things much easier._  
 _I am currently reviewing the subject's medical record, as I wait for him to awaken. I can now confirm that subject is 16 years of age and will turn 17 on July 15, born 15 minutes before his twin. That reminds me, I have sent Assistant 1: Boy, to spy on said twin, and give him clues, in a test of intelligence. He probably would not make a very worthy second Subject, if he is complete idiot. Besides, if he is able to find me on his own, then he's practically asking for me to make him my second Subject._

Ford groaned as he came to. He blinked his eyes a few times, as he tried to make the room he was in come into focus. He briefly panicked when everything remained blurry, but then realized he wasn't wearing his glasses. He noticed a small table next to the bed he was laying on. On top of it, folded neatly, were his glasses. He quickly put them on, and looked around the room. It reminded him of the guest room at his grandmother's old house; white walls, bed, dresser, generic wall art, curtains that matched the comforter.

He sat up and felt his stomach protest the action, as his vision became blurred again. He groaned and laid back down. He glanced at the bedside table again, this time seeing a glass of water, and two aspirin. A note beside them read, ' _This will help with the dizziness and nausea. My assistant will come to get you soon. We'll talk then'._ It wasn't signed, but he suspected it was left by whomever had abducted him. That left him confused. Why would someone who had taken him, be considerate of his comfort? In every book and movie, victims were kept locked up. And who would want to kidnap him, anyway? It wasn't as if their family had money, he and Stanley were….oh, God! _Stanley! Had he been taken as well?!_

He was pulled out of his near panic attack, by a knock at the door. It was so faint, almost timid, that he almost didn't hear it. He was surprised when it opened, to reveal the same little girl from the alley.

"If you'll follow me, my father wants to see you."

Her voice was soft, as if she were afraid to speak above a whisper. He wanted to be distrustful of her admittedly, after all, it was her fault he was here, but something seemed so _off_ about her, that made him want to help her still. He decided it was all the more reason not to trust her. If she was hiding something, that meant she knew more than she was letting on, and Ford knew to never trust someone like that.

"Sure, just give me a minute." he was still feeling dizzy and wanted a moment to both compose himself and take the offered pills. If they wanted him dead, he'd be dead already, and it didn't make sense to drug him now, if they wanted to see and talk to him, so he decided to believe they were just aspirin. He downed them quickly and stood up, noticing for the first time, he was barefoot. He looked at himself in the mirror above the dresser. He was wearing what looked like blue surgeon's scrubs. He turned to the girl.

"Where are my clothes?"

She fidgeted with her hands before answering. "Y-you," she winced at her own stutter. "had a reaction to the drug, that was used to knock you out, and threw up. They're in the wash."

Ford nodded quietly, thinking. _Yes that made sense._ Ford choose to ignore the reminder that he had been drugged, and abducted. _The scrubs is a little weird through._ Then again… everything about this has been weird.

He followed the girl out of the room, and down a hallway. He was surprised to see that the girl was wearing the same blue dress as before, (which was the same color blue as his scrubs.) and even still wearing the same costume butterfly wings. _Odd._ The hall had dark wood floors, and a long carpet runner down the length of it. From his glances into the open rooms on either side, the home appeared to be comfortably furnished. _This just keeps getting stranger._ He thought to himself. _Who_ have _I been abducted by, the Cleavers?_ She stopped in front of an open door, at the end of the hall, and knocked on the frame.

A man sitting behind a large, oak desk looked up, at first seemingly annoyed by the interruption, but smiled warmly when he saw Ford, standing behind the girl.

"Ah. I was wondering when you'd wake up. Come in, please. Have a seat." He made eye contact with the girl. "Thank you, dear. That'll be all. Close the door on your way out."

Ford cautiously entered the room, and sat down in one of the leather chairs facing the desk. The man stood, and walked around it to stand in front of him. He was tall, maybe just over six feet, with neatly trimmed black hair, and dark eyes that seemed to look through, you rather than at you. Like they were looking at how your atoms were constructed. He was casually dressed in khaki pants, with a black, collared polo shirt.

"You're the man from the beach. The one that I thought was following us."

"I am. How very perceptive of you." He smiled brightly. "It's nice to finally meet you," he said, extending his hand. "I apologise for the rather…. _dramatic_ means of getting your attention. But I felt talking with you was very important."

Ford rubbed the spot on his neck where the needle had entered. "A phone call wasn't an option?"

"Haha, no I'm afraid not." He smiled good naturedly, like Ford had made a joke. He retracted his hand, and leaned against the desk. "Allow me to cut directly to the point. My name is Doctor Phillip Allensen, I'm a researcher in the field of anomalous phenomena." He gestured to the set of shelves on his right. On them sat a collection of strange taxidermied animals, which included: a snake with two heads, a fish with legs, and something that looked like a frilled salamander.

Ford subconsciously hid his hands behind his back, at the mention of the anomalies. Allensen noticed the boy's discomfort, and continued in a reassuring voice.

"You misunderstand. My goal is to explain why these creatures exist. As well as what they can do. Wouldn't you like to know more about yourself? Why was it _only you_ , to be born this way, and not your brother as well? I, personally, think your hands are quite impressive, and beautiful. I would even go, as far as to say, your hands may be the next step, in our genetic evolutionary line!"

Ford pulled his hands from behind his back at stared at them. _The next step in the evolutionary line?_ "Forgive my skepticism, but I don't see how an extra finger is good for anything." He dropped his hands into his lap and looked down. "Except for attracting the negative attention of bullies."

"No, you are mistaken!" Allensen leaned forward and put a hand on Ford's shoulder. "That's part of the reason I wanted to speak with you. I was hoping you would help me with my research. Starting, with those _amazing_ hands of yours."

Ford looked up from his hands and made eye contact with Allensen. "What would I have to do?"

"Well, there will be a few blood tests to determine genetic markers. Then I'd like to do tests for things like manual dexterity, range of motion, flexibility, as well as asking you a few questions about them. Nothing too invasive."

Ford considered the offer. Would learning more about what had caused his polydactyly be a bad thing? He always had wanted to understand the stranger things of life. Especially about his hands. The tests didn't seem so bad, and the chance to study this fully would be an opportunity of a lifetime. He could finally do something useful with his time. Not mention this would give him a chance to ... _breathe._ Stanley had been so clingy lately. He had hardly had a moment to himself in _months_. He took a deep breath and extended his hand. "All right. I'll help you."

Allensen smiled and shook Ford's hand. "Welcome to the team, Stanford."

He never stopped to wonder, how Allensen knew his name.


	4. Chapter 4

_Research notes of Dr. P. Allensen_

 _Date: June 24, 1971_

 _Time: 5:41 pm_

 _It was easier than I thought, to get my Subject to agree, willingly, to testing. A little flattery, and the boy melted like hot butter, and never questioned the fact I had taken him against his will. Testing will begin tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he is able to roam the house, and has access to my extensive library. The fool thinks himself a guest rather than my prisoner._

 _My assistant, Boy, returned this afternoon, and told me he successfully planted the first clues for Subject's twin, to follow, including one at the sight of acquisition, to make sure we had his attention. This wasn't part of the plan, but I can't say I'm disappointed. I must admit, it was rather quick thinking on Boy's part. Perhaps I've underestimated him. I will talk more with my young assistant in the morning, for now, I need to make sure everything is ready to begin, in the morning._

After bursting into the, thankfully empty, pawn shop yesterday, Stan spent thirty minutes in his father's office trying to calm down enough to tell him what had happened. When he finally managed it, Filbrick sent him upstairs to tell their mother, to find one of Ford's most recent pictures, while he phoned the police to report the kidnapping.

Now, he sat in his, and Ford's shared bedroom, attempting to do something, other than worry himself to death. Unfortunately, the police so far, were no help. They said they couldn't do anything without proper proof that it was, indeed, a kidnapping. When they arrived where Stan had seen the note, it was gone. Only the scales were left, and they _refused_ to count them as evidence. So now, they were saying they couldn't do anything, until Ford was gone 24 hours. Ford could be dead in 24 hours! They said they're best bet, was to wait by the phone, in case the kidnapper called, to make demands. So here they were, their parents by the phones, and Stan in his room.

Stan stood, and resumed the pacing he'd been doing earlier, a thousand scenarios running through his head; _If he'd been on time, if he'd insisted Ford come to practice with him, if Ford had stayed home…._

His frustration was starting to get the best of him. He needed to punch something. He grabbed his gym bag and slung it over his shoulder. _A few rounds with the heavy bag should help,_ he thought. He turned, walked out his room, and started heading towards the front door. The gym was probably locked, but he didn't care. His coach had given him a copy of the key, a few years ago, after he won his first tournament. He said that stan could come by anytime, and practice.

His mother stopped him when he got to the living room. "Where are you going?"

"Gym. Gotta work off some stuff. Not doin' anything standing round here anyway."

"Please don't. What if these people are after you, too? I couldn't take worrying 'bout both my babies."

Stan hugged her, "Don't worry 'bout me, Ma. I ain't exactly an easy target. Besides, why they'd want me?" he stepped back and smiled at her with a smile only slightly forced. "Knowing the nerd, he probably got himself snatched by the CIA or something."

His mother sighed. "I wish I'd taught Ford the code word."

"I know Ma. You never thought he'd need it."

She sighed again, "Just be careful."

"I will."

She reluctantly let him go and he walked out to his car. Normally, he'd walk there, but he felt like driving would make him less of a target, right now. He opened the door and noticed an envelope under the driver's side windshield wiper. _What's this? Another parking ticket? This was legal parking so no, that couldn't be it._

He pulled the envelope out and opened it. He felt his stomach drop to his feet, when he saw the picture inside. It was Ford, out cold, with his arms tied behind his back. He looked to be laying in the backseat of a car. Scrawled across the back of the photo was, "Save him. Think you can? Go back to where this began."

 _What the heck does that mean!? 'Back to where this began?' Where was he supposed to go?!_

He groaned and lightly hit his car's steering wheel. Thinking was Ford's game, not his. Ford would probably already know the answer.

 _Come on, Stan. You can do this. You_ have _to do this. It's gotta be connected to Sixer getting snatched. So it's gotta mean either the alley, where he got snatched, or the boat, where that weird photographer, started putting Ford on edge._ The boat happened first, but Stan had no way of knowing, if the guy holding Ford knew that. _If only I'd listened to him back then…._ Instead he'd blown it off. Like he always does, when Ford freaks out about something. He treated it like it was no big deal, instead of listening to Ford. Now Sixer was gone, and it was all his fault!

 _This ain't helping,_ he thought to himself. _Pull yourself together. For all you know, he's locked up somewhere, waiting on you to save him._

He decided to try the alley first.

A few minutes later, he stood in front of the dumpster, where he had found Ford's satchel. Taped to the dumpster, was another envelope. It was too dark in the alley to read much of anything, so Stan decided to open it in his car, under the streetlamp.

But before he started heading out into the open, he bent down and bushed some of the scales on the ground into the previous envelope. The police might not think much of them but stan was sure they were connected to this. The scales were catching the light so much, they were practically glowing. _I bet Sixer would have loved to study these! No! He_ would _love to study these. I can't start thinking like that. In fact, after all of this is over, I'll give them to him as gift, and apology for taking so long, and he'll love 'em! After all the Poindexter is_ fine! _He has to be._

With renewed determination, Stan walked quickly, to his El Diablo. Once back in the driver's seat, he carefully opened the envelope. At first, it seemed empty, until he saw a small piece of paper folded in the corner. It looked like a store receipt of some kind. Written on the back were a series of numbers, almost like a code.

 _What the heck is this!?_ he thought. _Why are they making this so hard!_

He vaguely remembered Ford, going through a code breaker phase, when they were younger. He'd even bought a few books about it. Maybe they were still on his bookshelf. He tucked the envelope in the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled a, very likely illegal, U-turn back toward the shop. He had to figure this out and soon! Ford was counting on him.


	5. Chapter 5

Ford woke the next morning to a knock on his door.

"Come in." he called, as he sat up and stretched.

The door was opened to reveal a young boy, the same one he had seen hugging the girl from the alley. Ford could now see, the boy was a little on the scrawny side, with brown hair, like his sister's, though his was less curly, and was worn much shorter. He was dressed in periwinkle blue, doctor scrubs, that seemed like a miniature version, of Ford's own. He was holding a tray with eggs, toast, apple slices, and a cup of water.

"The doctor said I should bring you breakfast, before you get started today."

"The doctor? You mean your father?"

The boy just shrugged. "He also thought you'd like to shower, so I brought you some clean clothes."

He set the tray on the table, and the clothes, more surgeon's scrubs, on the bed next to Ford.

"I thought my regular clothes would be clean by now?"

"These are more comfortable."

Ford nodded, and poked the eggs with a fork. He wasn't much of a breakfast person, he usually just had toast or juice. The boy turned to leave, when Ford heard what sounded like the boy's stomach growl.

"Are you hungry?"

"A little."

Ford picked up the apple slices, and held them out to the boy. "I don't really like apples that much. You can have these if you want them."

The boy eyed him suspiciously, then took the slices. "Maple was right. You are nice."

"Maple?"

"It's what I call my sister. She has a serious sweet tooth. She got ahold of a bottle of syrup when we were about seven." The boy smiled at the memory, as he sat cross-legged on the floor. "She drank about half of it before I found her. She declared it delicious, and had it all over her face. I started calling her Maple after that."

Ford laughed. "Does she have a nickname for you?"

"Sure does. She calls me-"

"What are you doing in here, Son?"

The boy gasped, and jumped to his feet. He turned to see Allensen standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

"Nnn-nothing. I was just- He-," the boy stammered, as he fought to find words.

"He looked a little hungry, so I let him have my apple slices. I don't really like them anyway, and I didn't want them to go to waste."

"That's very kind of you, Stanford. Unnecessary, but kind." He turned his attention back to the boy. "I believe you have other chores to tend to?"

His voice was soft, as one would expect of anyone, dealing with young children, but it was Allensen's eyes, that sent a chill down Ford's spine. The man's dark eyes were cold, and completely empty of emotion. It was almost like looking into the eyes of a shark. They demanded absolute obedience.

The boy edged past Allensen, and sprinted down the hall. Allensen watched him go, then turned his attention back to Ford.

"After you've finished and showered, please join me in my office. I trust you remember where it is?"

Ford nodded.

"Excellent! Just knock, and wait for me to give you permission to enter. I know it may sound strange, but that's the one rule I have in this house, that I insist be followed. I value my privacy."

"I understand."

Allensen smiled warmly, although the smile still didn't touch his eyes. They remained cold and emotionless. It unnerved Ford just a little.

"Good. I'll see you soon, then."

The man turned and continued down the hall, dress shoes clicking against the polished wood. Ford put the rest of his breakfast aside, not feeling very hungry anymore.

He picked up the new set of scrubs, and carried them with him to the bathroom, that was connected to his room. It was about as guestroom-generic as the bedroom was: white walls, black-and-white checkered tile floor,tub/shower combo with a patterned curtain, pedestal sink, and a toilet. A medicine cabinet behind the mirror held shampoo, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving cream, and a razor.

Ford stood in the shower, trying to get the image of Allensen's shark eyes, out of his head. Had they been that cold yesterday? He honestly couldn't remember. Whether it was from shock, or the drugs, he couldn't be sure.

After a quick shower and shave, he walked down the hall to Allensen's office, and knocked on the door. He heard papers rustling, and a drawer open and close, before hearing Allensen say to come in. He pushed open the door, to find Allensen standing in front of his desk. He was dressed similar to the day before, tan dress pants, and a collared polo shirt. The only difference was the white lab coat, he now wore.

"Right on time. Please, have a seat. And close the door behind you."

Ford did so and sat down in the offered leather chair. Allensen turned to face him.

"Since it's our first day, I thought we'd start rather simply. I'd like to ask some questions first, then draw some blood," he pulled out a clipboard and pen. "Which is your dominant arm? And do you have less dexterity in the fingers of your non dominant arm?"

"Actually, both me and my brother are Ambidextrous."

"Really? That's quite intriguing. So, am I to presume, that your fingers on both hands, are fully functioning and have full dexterity?"

"Yes, that's correct. See," to demonstrate, Ford wiggled all 12 fingers. Allensen quickly made a note of that on the chart.

"Well, that's all I wanted to know, today. We will begin with, drawing the blood now. Do your prefer your left or right arm?"

"Um, left."

"Very well. Place your arm on the armrest, palm up."

He did so, as Allensen tied a tourniquet around Ford's upper arm. He flexed his fist a few times, to make the veins in his elbow stand out. The needle Allensen held slipped in easily, but Ford still gasped, the memory of the alley, too fresh in his mind.

"It'll be over soon," Allensen said, placing a hand on Ford's shoulder, while watching the boy's blood flow into the vial. His words were reassuring, but, like his eyes, his voice contained no emotion.


	6. Chapter 6

Research notes of Dr. P. Allensen

Date: June 26, 1971

Time: 11:52 am

 _First day of testing went smoothly. I acquired some of Subject's blood, and I am currently testing it for the genetic markers for his polydactyly. I wonder if his twin is also a carrier for these markers? If so, adding both DNA sequences would greatly increase the likelihood of a positive outcome for my final project._

 _In reference to the twin, he seems to be performing well on the clues he's being given. He figured out the riddle quite quickly. I currently have the pictures, that will be his next clue, developing in my dark room. He will not be as easy to convince to become a second Subject, as my current one was. I need to call a few of my old contacts, and see if I can obtain something that would make him more…compliant._

 _Tomorrow's testing will be a bit more intensive for my Subject, as I plan to note his pain response._

Stan felt like he was going out of his mind! Not only did he hardly get any sleep last night, but he was sure he kept catching glimpses, of something white, and silvery as he drove home. He also couldn't shake the feeling the feeling of being watched. This whole thing was driving him _mad_ with worry, and paranoia.

When he'd finally gotten home, the first thing he did was read it again, in the light of his bedroom. The receipt, the puzzle was written on the back of, was for a small convenience store on the next block. He was pretty familiar with it, having stopped there for sodas a few times. He walked over to the bookshelf to find the book he was looking for.

 _I'll never make fun of you for putting these in alphabetical order again Sixer,_ he'd thought as he pulled the book out. He remembered this one. They had gotten it as children, so they could send 'secret messages' to each other, 'like 007 does'. He'd flipped through the pages, 'til he found a puzzle that looked similar to the one on the paper. ' _Substitution Cipher. Usually a simple swap, by matching letters of the alphabet, to the corresponding number._ ' _Huh. That sounds easy enough._

 ** _9-20 19-5-5-13-19 15-21-18 12-9-20-20-12-5 7-1-13-5 9-19 4-5-22-5-12-15-16-9-14-7 18-1-20-8-5-18 17-21-9-3-11-12-25. 25-15-21-18 14-5-24-20 3-12-21-5 9-14 12-5-19-19 20-8-1-14 1 4-1-25. 2-5 1-20 20-8-9-19 1-4-4-18-5-19-19 1-20 15-14-5 16-13 20-15-13-15-18-18-15-23, 15-18 25-15-21-18 2-18-15-20-8-5-18 23-9-12-12 8-1-22-5 8-5-12-12 20-15 16-1-25._**

It felt like it took forever, to decode it by hand, but it really only took most of the night. He'd fallen into a restless sleep, not long after decoding it. After of course, he had raged so hard at the paper, for toying with him and his brother, he'd almost ripped it up! _The nerve! What kinda sick jerk treats peoples lives like they were games! Like this was just a form of entertainment! People like that make me_ **sick!**

He had considered taking the note straight to the cops, and demanding to know if it was enough proof of a kidnapping. With no ransom call, the police had listed Ford as a possible runaway. Even his dad's 'less-than-legal' contacts had turned up nothing.

He decided against it, 'cause they said they would confiscate anything that might be connected, and he couldn't afford to lose that note. They said once the full, twenty-four hours had passed, they'd file a missing persons report, and send out a fax to other districts, with Ford's photo and profile, and would have officers keep watch at all train and bus depots. The hardest part, had been overcoming the urge to tell his parents what was going on, especially when he heard his mom sobbing quietly in the living room, with his dad trying to comfort her.

"I got a few of my old crew lookin' for him, too," he'd said. "If he's still anywhere in Jersey, they'll find him." Stan hoped he was right.

Anyone who knew Stanley Pines, would laugh if they could see him right now. 'Mr. Late-for-Everything' was actually wearing a watch, one he seemed to be constantly checking, as he stood near the front window of the convenience store. He had arrived fifteen minutes before one o'clock, hoping to catch the person who would drop off the 'clue' and get some information out of them.

And if getting that information just happened to involve a left hook or two, well, he wasn't complaining. He'd actually prefer it, truth be told. Stanley had never been the best at waiting, or keeping his emotions in check. If someone or something was bothering him or Ford, he'd start swinging. So now, with nothing to punch, he had all this nervous energy about him, with nothing to do with it.

At five til one, a little boy approached the door of the store. His eyes seemed to be everywhere at once, as if he were looking for someone.

 _Poor kid. He looks like he could jump out of his skin at any moment,_ Stan thought. That's when he noticed the envelope in the kid's hand. He stepped out of the store.

"I think you might be lookin' for me, kid."

The boy started slightly. "Y-you weren't supposed to be here!"

"Look kid, just tell me where my brother is. Okay? I just want him home."

"I can't. I was just told to leave this."

He handed Stan the envelope, and turned and sprinted away, like a scared deer.

Stan sighed, and looked down at the envelope. No point in going after a kid. He probably didn't know anything anyway.

He opened the envelope to find a series of pictures inside: a stone angel's wing, a wrought iron fence, part of a tombstone, and a garden spade. On the back of the first one was another number code:

' ** _15-14-5 15-6 20-8-5-19-5 9-19 6-1-12-19-5. 15-14-5 9-19 20-18-21-5. 1-14-15-20-8-5-18 9-19 23-8-5-18-5 25-15-21'12-12 6-9-14-4 20-8-5 14-5-24-20 3-12-21-5.'_**

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting tired of this cryptic crap. Did the people who kidnapped his brother really think this was all a game? And what was this leading to? It felt almost like….

 _It's a test_ , he realized. His mother's words came back to him, " _What if these people are after you, too?"_

"That's a chance I'm gonna havta take, Ma," he mumbled to himself. He'd pass any test they threw at him, if it meant getting Ford back.

He walked back into the store, and bought a Peach Cola and a bag of Toffee Peanuts. _No sense trying to figure this out on an empty stomach._

He got back in his car, pulled the first picture out of the envelope, and fumbled around in the glove compartment for a pen. Now that he knew the key, this puzzle was easier to decode. _Terrific,_ he thought ruefully. _A guessing game._

He spread the pictures out on his lap. The fence he recognized from the 'nice' part of town, from when the beach had been a vacation place for people, who dressed like the Monopoly guy. The angel wing and tombstone? _A church, maybe?_ The spade was the one throwing him off. Was it the meaningless one? He looked at the angel picture. There was something in the background. A church sign! Better than that, one he recognized. It was an old Catholic church in that nicer part of town. He threw the unopened drink and peanut bag into the passenger seat, and put the car in gear.

 _Hang on just a little longer, Ford. I'm gonna find you. And bring you back._


	7. Chapter 7

Ford laid on his stomach on a couch in the library, a copy of Darwin's 'Origin of Species' open in front of him. He'd always wanted to read this book, but the head librarian was a religious woman, and had refused to carry it.

He looked up when the door opened, to see Maple walk in. She held a feather duster and a bottle of furniture polish.

"Oh! I didn't think anyone would be in here!"

He smiled. "That's alright. I was just taking your father up on his offer, of using the library while I was here. Besides, I was getting a bit lonely anyway. It's good to formally meet you, Maple."

A huge grin broke across her face. He noticed for the first time, she had dimples. "You know my name? You must've talked to Dipper!"

"Dipper?"

"That's what I call my brother."

"He told me how you got your nickname. How did he get his?"

"Next time you see him, ask him to show you his forehead." Her wings fanned slowly behind her. Ford was reminded of a feeding butterfly.

"Do you wear those all the time?"

She cocked her head to the side, confused. "Wear what?"

"The wings," he said gesturing slightly to the wings on her back.

"Well," she looked down, her smile suddenly gone. If Ford didn't know better, he'd have said her wings tensed. "I don't really have a choice. They're kind of attached to me. I was born with them."

Ford's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Amazing!"

She looked up again, the smile from before, ghosting at her lips. "You don't think I'm a freak?"

"Maple, I'm the last person who would judge someone a 'freak'." He held up his hands and wiggled all twelve fingers.

She rushed over for a closer look. "Cool! You're like one of those cats with extra toes."

"A Hemingway?"

"Yeah! Those! I've always wanted a cat, but Father won't let me have one. He's not really an animal person."

"What about your mom?"

The smile faded again. "She died having Dip and me." She sounded like she was reciting something. Curious. Her wings were stiff again.

She must just not like talking about it, he decided. He couldn't blame her. He decided to change the subject back to their previous discussion."So, are you able to use your wings at all?"

"Uh huh!" She smiled brightly. "I can move them a bunch! They usually move with my emotions." Her wings were fluttering softly, behind her, as she spoke, to emphasize her point. Suddenly her wings dropped a little as her smile fell. "I can't fly though."

"You can't? Why not?" Ford inquired, mildly concerned.

"They're too small. Father said they won't ever be strong enough to get any lift."

"Well," Ford paused, trying to think of what to say to cheer her up. "Have you ever tried?"

Maple her shook her head, staring at him.

"Maple, if science has taught me anything," Ford began with a light smile. "Is that you never know what you're capable of, until you try!"

"Well, I do love trying new things!" She a devilish smile spread across her face, as she moved to one of the shelves, where she started squirting the furniture polish. "This isn't bothering you is it?"

"No, Maple. It's fine," Ford said easily, as he turned back to his book.

"You shouldn't call me that when Father's around," she said, almost absently, as she continued to clean.

"What?" He asked startled, sitting up and turning to face her. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Father wouldn't approve of it. So it's best not to use our names in front of him."

Ford frowned. That seemed a bit harsh. "What does he call you then?"

"Girl."

"Girl?"

"Dipper's Boy."

"He doesn't call you by your names?"

"Oh, uh," Maple faltered. "He says we haven't earned names yet." She was clearly uncomfortable with the topic, her wings were at aquakward angles as she stumbled over her sentences. "But it's okay, cause there's only two of us, so what's the point, right? Hehe," she laughed awkwardly.

"Of course it matters!" Ford shouted as he stood up, outraged. "You're both unique individuals and you deserve your own identities, that belong to you and you alone! You shouldn't be treated like one person or two halves of a whole! You should be respected for the person you are!"

Ford was out of breath and panting hard, by the time he finished his rant. He looked back at Maple. She was stunned and speechless and she stared at him, wide eyed in surprise. She blinked at him, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. "Are you …" she seemed to be struggling to gather thought, once more. "Going to be okay?"

Ford took a moment longer to breath and compose himself. "Yes. Yes, I'll be fine. I'm sorry for my sudden outburst, but I'll be fine."

As he slumped back down onto the couch, Maple climbed up next to him and put her arms around his neck. "You know what you need?" she asked with a grin. "Cookie therapy!"


End file.
